That’s the baseline, anyway. A fiercely piercing eye, a surveillance state, always slightly paranoid. Nothing is to be trusted, not really. Things may appear one way but suddenly reveal themselves to be another. Yet at the same time brutally honest—this is who I am to you, this is who you are. This is how we stand in relation to one another.
A contradiction in terms laid delicately on top of a casual heap of other contradictions, all unresolved, all in languid contemplation of each other, all floating in air. It’s an in-between place. Ephemeral, uncanny, unreal, ethereal. Stuck out of time yet grinding interminably onwards in relentless breezy time. The far east, a neither-nor, a doppelganger place slid deftly in like a leaf of paper between a pile of familiar and not. There’s a KFC. A McDonald’s. A monument to the Great Patriotic War.